


Somnambulism

by dryswallow



Category: Nabari no Ou
Genre: Gen, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 03:18:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dryswallow/pseuds/dryswallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the massacre, everything returns to him slowly. A short character study.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somnambulism

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from lj

Everything returns to him slowly.

The first thing he notices is how cold the gravel road feels beneath his feet. It seems far away from him, disconnected, as though he's remembering rather than experiencing it. With each step it gets a little closer, and he starts to notice other things as well. Even in darkness, he's able to recognize this as a small and winding side road not far from the house where he has lived all his life. Across the valley he can see the scattered lights of town, pulsing quietly in the still night air. If he keeps walking at this pace, he'll reach them within the hour.

He begins to relearn his body, its rhythms and weight. Each movement resounds with familiarity and strangeness together, as though he has returned to himself altered. Nauseous shivers roll through his flesh as sensation is restored. There's a stiffness in his shoulders and back, a tightness in his chest, and the back of his throat burns with each inhale. The chill he first felt has transformed into a throbbing pain. His feet, he realizes, are bare and into their soles the gravel has carved countless tiny cuts.

The wind stirs, catching his hair and releasing from it the smell of ash. Maybe, he thinks, maybe I'm dreaming. He can feel his heart beating, shallow and quick. I must be dreaming.

When the road diverges he follows it to the right, and continues on until he comes to a small pond. He sits by the water's edge and washes his feet, cleaning the cuts of dirt, blood and stones. Memories begin to swell inside of him, and though he splashes his face with cold water in attempt to keep himself steady, they quickly overtake him.

His mother's hands tug at his clothing. His uncle's voice begs for him to stop. His sister's eyes watch him without blinking, holding the weight of all that he's done.

He can't breathe; his lungs are filled with smoke.


End file.
